


Tips on How to Handle Your God - Read Here!

by Papayaaple



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Developing Relationship, Gen, God!Kuroo, M/M, This is mostly comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25091140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Papayaaple/pseuds/Papayaaple
Summary: Yamaguichi’s swift departure in pursuit of his degree still has him reeling a bit, and that’s probably why he still utters a quiet, “I’m back,” even though there isn’t anyone at home.Or, thereshouldn’tbe.“Welcome back! You’re a little late, the pizza’s already cold.”“Fuck!” Kei doesnotscream. Hedoesn’t.
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei
Comments: 7
Kudos: 58





	1. How Not To Talk To A God

Kei’s had a _hell_ of a day, and he’d like nothing more than to pass out for the next eight to ten hours, wake up and eat the last of the cake he has in the fridge, while avoiding **any** sort of human interaction for the whole of the upcoming holidays.

He loves his job, the museum’s catalog of fossils and dinosaur bones wide and varied, giving him something to look forward to everyday. And, it _would_ be perfect, if only Kei’s co-workers weren’t like hyperactive primary school children in a McDonalds jumping around to grab the last Happy Meal of the day.

Despairingly, he didn’t think anyone could be as hyper as Hinata. But, karma likes being a bitch, and _only_ to him, apparently, and sicced him with the most high-octane energy group of co-workers he could have **ever** imagined.

He should apologise to Hinata. There are, somehow, people more screwed up than him.

Today, they’d thought it would be a good idea drag him to a bar because, “Tsukishima! It's a holiday tomorrow! Have a drink with us, you can’t back out!”

And that’s how he ends up trudging back home to his apartment in Tokyo, fifteen minutes to two. As he unlocks the door, he notes how it feels empty and devoid of life, something that he notes as of late. It probably has to do with the fact that Yamaguchi – _the traitor_ , had decided to pursue a degree in _Ireland_ , of all places. He’d applied for the degree back in April – _something that he only told Kei a week before he was scheduled to fly off_ – and left so quickly he’d even forgot to bring his favourite pair of mittens.

Kei’s keeping them hostage now.

Yamaguichi’s swift departure in pursuit of his degree still has him reeling a bit, and that’s probably why he still utters a quiet, “I’m back,” even though there isn’t anyone at home.

Or, there _shouldn’t_ be.

“Welcome back! You’re a little late, the pizza’s already cold.”

“Fuck!” Kei does _not_ scream. He **_doesn’t_**.

He **_does_** , however, drop his bag and slap the wall around the light switch for a good three seconds before his palm hits the mark. He squints as his eyes adjust to the sudden brightness and sees someone sitting on his couch.

“Who the **_fuck_** are you? **_Why_** are you here? Get **_out_** of my house.” Kei breathes out, taking a look at the intruder.

It’s a man, and from the looks of it, around the same height as him with atrocious bed hair that can _only_ be styled with a tub of gel, and thirty minutes in the bathroom. He’s also dressed in some sort of robe that wouldn’t be out of place in a fantasy movie set.

What even.

His eyes move back to the man’s face and he sees what can only be described a _shit-eating grin_ plastered on his mouth.

“My my,” the man answers, amusement in his voice. “How rude, you invite me to your home and don’t even serve me any drinks. Now you’re throwing me out, what a terrible host you are.”

“I don’t recall doing that.” Kei scrutinizes the man. He doesn’t recognise him at all, and even if he did, he’d still kick him out. “Get out of my house before I call the police.”

The man stands up, shuffling towards him. Kei takes a step back, one foot in the apartment and other out the door, ready to book it if the man decides to do something. He stops three metres from Kei, which is too close, in his opinion. He’d like the man to be hundreds of kilometres away, if possible.

“Kuroo,” the man rumbles, eyeing Kei like he’s some interesting exhibit in a gallery. Either that, or a piece of meat in a slaughterhouse, and he’s **_not_** ready to find out which one it is. “Kuroo Tetsuroo.”

“Okay, and?” He replies. It’s October, Winter’s around the bend and he’s not dressed warmly enough to continue standing outside his own _godamned_ apartment. “What do you want me to do with that information?”

“You asked for my name.” Kuroo replies. “I’m here because you brought me here.” He’s still got that glint in eye. Kei’s pretty sure that the look means it’s because he doesn’t look an interesting exhibit but rather like the piece of meat.

“Are you insane? I’d remember if I brought you here. Get out.” He takes a step back and allows enough space for the man to leave.

Kuroo continues standing there, pointedly **_not_** leaving. Does he not comprehend basic instructions? Instead, he lifts up his left arm and pushes back the sleeves of his robe to reveal a tattoo. Kei doesn’t understand _why_ an intruder broke into his house to show him a tattoo. Maybe he shouldn’t have moved to Tokyo.

He’s also not sure why, but the tattoo bugs him. Instead of shoving Kuroo out the door and into the mercy of the cold winter winds, he contemplates why the tattoo looks so familiar.

And then it clicks.

“Why do you have that tattoo?” Kei asks.

He recalls that another team in the museum received a new piece, and he’d been passing by when they’d placed it. It was a slab decorated with words obviously from an ancient time, and in the centre of it was a symbol that looks _exactly_ like the tattoo Kuroo has.

The only reason why he remembers that he’d been drawn to it, strangely enough, since Kei didn’t take note of _anything_ other than his fossils. He’d leaned forward to get a closer look, when he tripped, and ended up sprawled on the ground. To his unending misfortune, the whole team handling the slab was there to witness him displaying his sheer lack of walking coordination.

At least no one in his department had been there to see it. _Silver lining_.

His left hand had also ended up on the slab, pressing down on it with an amount force that probably shouldn’t be exerted on an artefact. After they had helped him up, they frantically inspected the slab for any damage, heaving sighs of relief when there wasn’t any, and kicked him out of the area.

He looks down at his left arm, covered up by his turtleneck. Near his wrist he notes a black discolouration. _Strange_ , it wasn’t there yesterday. He pushes the sleeve up, and almost gets a heart attack when he sees the same tattoo Kuroo has on his arm. When had **_that_** happened?

“My sigil.”

Kei startles. He’d somehow forgotten about Kuroo. “What?”

“You summoned me, that day.” Kuroo says, like it’s the answer to everything that’s happening right now.

“So, you’re… what? A demon? A god?” Kuroo’s definitely not any of those, but he still prays that he’d somehow gone out for a drink, told Kuroo about the tattoo, went with Kuroo to get said tattoo, and then passed out and forgot all about it.

Since he doesn’t pray to any god, his prayers are _useless_.

“Mmm, you could call me that. A god.” Kuroo licks his lips. His tongue is forked. _What?_ “Not enough to have a temple, but enough for a dedicated sigil.”

He scrutinizes Kuroo again. This time, he notices something poking out of the mess of his hair. It had been hidden by the… _everything_ that is his hair, but Kei notices it now. A jagged black curve, reminiscent of a horn on the right side of his head. He peeks at the other side of Kuroo’s head and sees another one, matching the “horn” on the right.

Suddenly, everything falls into place. Kuroo’s a **_cosplayer_**.

He must be one of Kei’s new neighbours who wanted to see if his cosplay was effective for this year’s convention, so he sneaked into his house and is now talking about how he’s a god. A cosplayer with a god complex, _he can deal with that_.

“Okay,” Kei sighs, “the outfit is good, the tongue is a nice touch. You’ll fit in with everyone in the convention. _Now_ , can you _leave_ my apartment?”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, since Kuroo’s eyes start _glowing red_ and that perpetual grin disappears. He’s pulled into the apartment and pushed down onto his couch by some sort of force. The force also slams the door closed. _Rude_.

In hindsight, he maybe, _probably_ shouldn’t have provoked a man with a god complex, and he **_definitely_** shouldn’t have provoked a man who’s not a man and some sort of god. If Kuroo takes his soul, he hopes he’ll let Kei finish the cake in his fridge _before_ doing so. He tells Kuroo as much.

Kuroo frowns, his eyes going back to their natural gold. Which is, not really _natural_ , but. “I wouldn’t do that,” and plops down in the armchair opposite of Kei. “You summoned me; I don’t need your soul anyways. They usually don’t taste good.”

“So, what do you want?” Kei stands up and ambles toward the fridge. Since he doesn’t seem to be in mortal danger, he’s free to devour the aforementioned cake. Kuroo hums, eyes following his movement as he puts the last two slices on separate plates. _Look at you, you’re being hospitable. You never share your cakes with anyone! –_ A voice that sounds like Yamaguchi echoes in his head.

Kuroo still doesn’t answer. Instead, he feels the force again sweeping up two boxes, which he notices only now, of what seems to be pizza and _floats_ them onto the dining table, where he’s relocated to. Kei ignores the lack of respect for the laws of Physics and places one plate in front of him and sits down in the chair, facing Kuroo.

“Hmm… there isn’t much that interests me here but…” He trails off, munching on a slice of pizza. Wait, where’d he get the money to buy them? “ _You’re_ interesting enough. I’d like to learn more about you.”

“What… what does that even mean? What are you going to do?” Kei asks.

“Exactly what I mean. I’d like to know more about you.” Kuroo responds.

“And if I refuse?” He takes the last bite of cake. He mourns the loss of it already.

“Nothing much. Other than your mortal body deteriorating at a rapid speed, causing _agonizing_ pain and anguish.” He says casually. Kuroo looks over to see Kei grimacing and cackles. “Just kidding. Nothing to gain, nothing to lose. I’m just bored. If you do entertain me though…”

“What?” Kei growls.

“I’ll help you around the house?” Kuroo tilts his head.

“I think I’m hearing things wrong. Please repeat that again so that I can understand.” Kei says monotonously.

His shit-eating grin reappears. “If you entertain me, I’ll be your housekeeper.”

Kei looks up, wondering why he’s being tested like this.

“Other than that, I can make money. You don’t need to worry about your bills.” He shows Kei his empty hand, closes it, chants something he can’t bother to comprehend, and opens it. There’s a stack of bills where empty space was. Impressive. But, money doesn’t justify having to interact _socially_ with Kuroo.

He opens his mouth – “I can also make that cake you bought. And other things.” – _and shuts it_.

“So,” Kei squints, “A god who’ll be my housekeeper, pays my bills and makes me cake.”

“And all you have to do is entertain me!” Kuroo winks.

“Let me make some sort of contract first before I give my soul away or something.” Kei insists.

“No need, I have one here! I’ve also already informed your landlord.” He closes his other fist not filled with bills and opens it to show him a piece of paper. Kei _doesn’t_ want to know how Kuroo got the contract or how he managed to convince his landlord. He reads the **_surprisingly_** well worded contract stating the terms and conditions of Kuroo’s stay. He has a sudden realisation that Kuroo is becoming his _roommate_. Kei doesn’t think about it for much longer though, because his brain is already fried with the amount of information overload that is **_Kuroo_ ,** and signs the contract. He passes it back to him, watching as Kuroo signs his side.

He nods his head, peering at the contract, looking satisfied. Kei takes it as his cue to leave the scene, and shuffles towards his bedroom. He changes out of his clothes that still smell like _beer_ and _barbequed beef_ and into his shirt and boxers. Kei’s sure that he’ll regret the decision in the morning, but right now he’s too **_tired_** to comprehend anything other than the _sweet, sweet_ embrace of his bed.

He dreams of pizza that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *bonks Tsukishima over the head*  
> Don't be rude to cosplayers. At least to the ones without a Yaoi paddle.
> 
> Anyways I've been lurking in this fandom for over 5 years now and it occurred to me that I should probably write something, so here it is.
> 
> It was meant to be under 2k, but it developed legs and started running. I've planned for this to be 3 chapters, but don't be surprised if it ends up to be more.
> 
> If you liked it, do comment! It helps with the creative juices ー( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ


	2. How to Shop with Your God

Kei wakes up the next morning with the _distinct_ feeling that something has gone _terribly_ wrong.

He’s not exactly sure why that is. Maybe it has to do with the fact that he can taste his own morning breath – the type that only smells the way it does when you’ve drunk too much, made a fool out of yourself and blacked out. Or maybe it’s about his dream last night where he was chased by a pepperoni pizza with googly eyes screaming about how he should pack on more carbs.

Yeah, it’s probably the pepperoni demon.

Either ways, his mouth tastes and smells rancid, and he’d like it to _not_ be that way. Turning onto his back, he blinks at the ceiling, taking a moment to enjoy the peaceful morning.

He’s loose-limbed and relaxed. This is something that rarely happens, what with all the work that’s been piled on him lately.

Kei takes a deep breath and breathes out. He regrets it immediately when the smell of his drinking bender returns to haunt him.

Groaning, he gives himself a few seconds to enjoy his warm blanket burrito before shrugging it off. He shuffles to the edge of the bed and stands up. As he stretches his arms over his head, he notices that his clothing’s strewn all over his bedroom floor. He doesn’t remember much of what happened last night, but he couldn’t have been _that_ drunk to empty his whole closet and dump it on the floor.

_Could he?_

Kei sighs. He’ll rearrange the clothes later.

Right now, he’s going to shower, scrub his mouth clean, then make breakfast. He pads on over to the bathroom adjoined to his bedroom, grabbing a new pair of boxers, a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants on the way. He cranks the heat up, and takes a scalding hot shower before scrubbing his mouth for a good ten minutes before he decides his breath is tolerable enough.

As he opens his bedroom door, he smells something good. It smells like… pancakes? Probably Yamaguchi. Enticed by the thought of fluffy, warm pancakes he walks to the kitchen.

And therein Kei realises his mistake. Yamaguchi isn’t here. He’s halfway across the world in Ireland. Why would there _be_ pancakes?

This was why he felt something off the moment he got up.

 ** _This_** being Kuroo dressed in nothing other than Kei’s boxers (not even his nice ones) and an apron.

Good lord. Memories of last night smash into him like a freight train.

While Kei is standing there being _pummelled_ by last night’s memories, Kuroo is plating the aforementioned pancakes. He gathers up the plates of not only pancakes, but also sausages, bacon, eggs, miso soup and rice. It looks like a meal meant for four people.

He then shows a magnificent display of both balancing and hand eye coordination, and lays out the plates on the dining table. Maybe he should take lessons from Kuroo.

As Kuroo takes a step back to admire the jumbo-sized meal, he notices Kei, who’s just finished being beaten down by his memories. He grins at him and gestures for him to sit down.

He sighs, resigning himself to fate. If he’s going to talk to Kuroo, he might as well do it on a stomach full of pancakes – which he realises, are extra fluffy and to his liking.

As Kei wolfs down the pancakes, he sees Kuroo remove the apron from the corner of his eye. Which reminds him of the fact that he’s only wearing boxers. Kuroo turns around and he gets a good eyeful of the pair of boxers he decided to choose.

Kei chokes.

Out of all the underwear he owns, _why this one_?

The badly printed 3D wolf on the centre of Kuroo’s junk _stares_ at him with air of nonchalance, getting closer as Kuroo walks towards the dining table to offer him a glass of water and slapping his back to help Kei breathe normally.

The boxers had been given to him by Nishinoya as a gag gift after Kei had passed his job interview. He had opened up the package and had gotten promptly _freaked out_ by the faux werewolf. Swearing to get his revenge, Kei tells Sawamura exactly what happened to his broken TV over text. He got seven missed calls that evening.

Suffice to say, he never thought he’d see it again after he threw it into the darkest corner of his closet. 

“Whoa, you okay?” Kuroo asks as Kei tries to gain back some semblance of a normal breathing pattern.

He turns to Kuroo and comes face to face with his wolf covered junk still staring at him dispassionately.

He chokes again.

Once Kei conquers his temporary dysphagia and Kuroo is assured that he doesn’t have breathing problems, Kuroo starts chomping down on breakfast. With morbid curiosity, he looks down at the boxers. The wolf’s face is smushed. He doesn’t choke this time.

He drags a hand down his face. A god wearing wolf boxers. What has his life come to. Kei huffs. You know what? Whatever.

He decides to continue his plan to stuff his face before he confronts the mess that is his living situation. It does help that the pancakes are heavenly.

Once they’ve finished breakfast and Kuroo’s started washing up the dishes, Kei decides this is possibly the best time to confront this.

“Why are you wearing those?” Oops. Not the first question he should have asked, but it’ll get the ball rolling.

“They look good on me.” Kuroo shakes his hips minutely. Kei pointedly does not look. “Also, your pants don’t fit me.”

“Then go buy new ones.” He says.

“Good idea!” Kuroo exclaims as he dries the last of the plates and places them back on the rack. “Where are we going?”

“ _We_ are not going anywhere; _you_ are going to go out and buy proper decent clothes that can be worn out in public with the money you… uh… produce.” Kei frowns.

“What a sourpuss. This is part of the agreement y’know,” Kuroo turns around to look at him, hands on his hips. It emphasizes the underwear again. “Entertaining me. And the way I have decided to be entertained today is on a shopping trip with you.”

“Good luck on that solo shopping trip then,” Kei huffs. “There’s no way you’d convince me to go out shopping on a Saturday.”

“Grey or black?” Kuroo holds up pants for Kei to inspect.

“Black.” Kei replies, messing around on his phone.

“Aw, come on, you’re not even looking.” Kuroo shoves the pants in front of his face.

“Doesn’t really matter anyways; you’ll ask me, contemplate for a minute and then end up picking both, like you’ve done for the last thirty pairs.” Kei shoves them right back into his face.

Both of them end up having a mini tug of war match with the exasperated store clerk as their audience. Eventually, Kuroo does make his decision, and picks both of them. Like Kei said.

They make their way out of their 40th shop of the day and Kuroo mercifully decides that it’s time for a break. He chooses a cozy Italian restaurant that’s semi-packed and smells like heavenly pizza. His mood improves by at least ten percent.

Once they’ve ordered, Kei takes the time to stretch out his neck and arms, tired from the excessive load of the bags he’s been carrying. Seriously, who needs six black jeans of the same make? Kuroo, apparently.

The man in question is observing him inquisitively, smiling his signature shit-eating grin as usual. Not wanting to start another round of arguments, Kei looks everywhere but at him and notices candles situated in the middle of the table, lit up and giving a warm atmosphere. It’s comfy.

“How romantic.” Kuroo snickers once he realises what Kei is looking at.

“You say that like anyone would go on a date with you.” He sips at his hot vanilla.

“Oh, plenty,” Kei’s _Kuroo-bullshit alarm_ , which was installed just this morning, blares in his head. He’s going to say something stupid. “My devotees would love to go on a date with me if they could, you know. There are even those that get on their knees and–“

“Uhm… your… Lobster Bisque…” The poor waiter looks like he’d rather be in another continent than to listen to this conversation, perfectly summarizing how Kei feels right now.

“Thanks!” Kuroo says, digging into the soup like he’d said nothing out of the ordinary. Considering the fact that it’s _him_ , it probably isn’t.

The whole situation with Kuroo isn’t ordinary anyways, and he gets the feeling that the more he thinks about it the larger the headache it’ll become without giving him any concrete answers.

But then again, Kei is Kei, and he doesn’t like leaving things to the unknown.

Which is why he is now scrutinizing Kuroo and his ridiculous hairdo that he still doesn’t know how he managed, gobbling up the soup at mach speed, somehow without spilling any of it on the new shirt, shorts, socks and shoes they just bought. Or, well, Kuroo did, but Kei played a part in the decision making so he counts as well.

Looking at him from this angle, with proper clothes on, he can admit that he doesn’t look that bad. _Somewhat_ attractive, he guesses. But since he knows next to nothing about Kuroo and he’s Kei’s roommate he supposes he should draw a line somewhere.

Wow. He really needs to get laid before he overthinks everything.

While Kei’s brain was working at the same speed as Kuroo’s mouth, his Spaghetti and Kuroo’s pizza arrives. He mutters a quick thank you for the meal, and digs in. The cream base is amazing.

On the other side of the table Kuroo is still eating at the same speed, shoving the pizza slices down like he’s a starved man. Kei doesn’t know whether he just has a big appetite, as evidenced by breakfast, or they don’t have food wherever he comes from.

They eat their meal in a comfortable silence, which sets off alarm bells in Kei’s head, because Kuroo likes to talk and has _not_ stopped talking since he appeared out of thin air.

His fears are justified when Kei looks down to answer a message on his phone, a lone strand of spaghetti slowly making its way in his mouth, and looks up to see Kuroo two centimetres from his face, the other end of the spaghetti strand in his mouth.

“ _What are you doing_.” Kei bites off the strand and leans away from him.

“Aw.” Kuroo looks at him with puppy dog eyes. “Wanted to do that scene, y’know, the one where those two dogs eat spaghetti together. It would be waste not to with the romantic décor!”

He does, in fact, know what Kuroo is talking about, but he’d rather not think about Kuroo’s tomato covered mouth anywhere near him.

As if sensing this, he leans over quickly to peck Kei on the nose.

“Guess I’ll settle for this.” Kuroo grins.

Kei’s too bewildered to answer, staring at him blankly.

When it does hit him though, he feels himself flushing, the tips of his ears and his cheeks tinged red, and dumps the rest of the pasta on Kuroo’s lap.

Kuroo doesn’t seem to be deterred though, in fact, he seems to be delighted, guffawing. “Oh, cute. You look like one of those Strawberry Shortcakes!”

He dumps his drink as well, for good measure.

Kuroo has to buy an extra pair of headphones on top of the ones he promised Kei to get him out of the house, and _three_ slices of Strawberry Shortcake to appease Kei.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Underwear in question: https://www.amazon.ca/3-PCS-Seamless-Boxer-Stretchable-Underwear/dp/B01F6O85Y2
> 
> I think I have the number of chapters down, hopefully
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you liked it, do comment, it keeps the pepperoni demon at bay ー( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ


End file.
